Of Coffee and God

Preamble,

Where I come from we have no separation of church and state in fact the head of the church IS the head of state. This means that you have an unfortunate chance of being educated in a state run church based school and indeed this was my fate. My only consolation is that it was a church of England school and not a catholic school. From what I hear those nuns with their rulers across the back of the hands would have turned me into a flagellant and I have enough problems without having to squeeze into a leather basque squealing "Mercy mistress, mercy". One of the problems of being force fed religion by wizened old crones with hair on their upper lips and evil in their hearts is that it tends to push you (me) well away from any form of church. Despite learning the ritual by rote I now realize that I never once understood this Holy trinity nonsense. What is it about the Father, Son and Holy Ghost? Holy Ghost? What is that about? Who died, OK OK apart from Jesus. These days I admit that I know so little about religion I don't know if I am an agnostic or an atheist. This is actually a bad thing as we seem to be living on the buckle of the bible belt. When we first arrived within two days we had been asked three time if we had found a good church. (And of course been invited to several). I don't really mind have God thrust upon me but I wonder what would happen if I asked people if they had found a good topless bar yet, and then invited them to join mine.

Part One,

Shortly after we opened a holy man came in for a cup of coffee. I have an instinctive trust in the title reverend and this old boy seemed to be the genuine article. It transpired that he helps orphans in Honduras by selling their coffee. He left us a couple of pounds and it really was rather jolly stuff. Weeks later he returned with the sales pitch and it was good. So now we get a great deal on coffee and the profits go to the orphans, a win win situation. So do I have to go to church and kneel in order to suck up to the big guy upstairs? I hope not.

Part two,

As you can imagine we get all flavors of holy in the coffee shop and by and large they a thoroughly decent bunch. Last week I was expounding my quasi religious nonsense that all paths lead to the Great Architect of the Universe and Christians, Muslins, Hindus et al were all on different roads to the same destination. The pastor looked at me very strangely and left, we haven't seem him or his family since. I truly hope that I didn't inadvertently offend him but I suspect I did. This is another reason that I steer clear of organized religion.

Part three,

Apropos nothing at all I went to a catholic wedding last year. I know nothing about church weddings and even less about catholic weddings. Fortunately for me a real nice couple, Marty and Gloria were also invited so I knew that fun and frivolity would ensue during the day and evening. Just before the ceremony started I was intrigued by a mechanical contraption in front of the pew. By messing and messing with it I finally realized that is was a platform to be lowered before kneeling. Now if you have not been to a catholic wedding let me tell you that you are up and down like a bride's nightdress. After the umpteenth session on knees I decided that was it and I raised our kneeling platform, Marty looked at me, assumed that I knew what I was doing and raised their one. Well of course within seconds some secret word that only Catholics know was said and down everyone went again. Gloria who for some reason assumed that the kneeler was still there went straight down and ended up sliding under the pew. I lowered my grovel pad and once again Marty took his cue from me effectively jamming Gloria in place. The spectacle of G's arms and legs flapping 19 to the dozen, coupled with the general boredom of the proceedings just about cracked me up. For the rest of the ceremony I just had to focus on Margaret Thatcher's pudenda to avoid wetting myself. By the way how is it a Catholic priest can turn a wedding into such a miserable occasion? All that whining about the sins of the flesh. Personally I would rather go to an Anglican funeral than a Catholic wedding.

Addendum 1.
A year later Gloria is having to undergo reconstructive knee surgery. I do hope that my antics with the grovel pad didn't start that off. Now I am riddled with guilt. Perhaps as punishment God is turning me into a Catholic.

Addendum 2.
Marty is the smartest guy I know. He has a Ph.D. , a razor sharp wit and a great way with words. In fact is really is a bit of a cunning linguist. So at the reception I told him my favorite joke.

Doctor, Doctor, I've got a strawberry stuck up my arse.
Doctor: Don't worry I have some cream for that.

Marty looked at me, looked at Gloria, looked at me and said "What?"

Colonial peasant.